


Needs Must

by naughtypixie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Cock Choking, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M, Romance, boot licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/pseuds/naughtypixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hush, Marcus. Taashath. Calm. As gratifying as it is for you to be so eager, you won't get my cock sooner if you fight me." </p><p>Or, alternately: A thorough and explicit discussion of Qunari leadership practices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Must

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/gifts).



> I have no idea where this came from. Just -- no idea. 
> 
> I want to thank Te, my Mommy, for helping me with this from beginning to end. I think she taught me more about English grammar and creative writing in a few months than I'd learned in the previous *decades*, despite our best efforts to the contrary. And this isn't even her *fandom*. All remaining mistakes are my own, because I'm just that stubborn, and being Te's pre-reader for the past eight years has taught me a *lot* about how to be a temperamental artist who gets exactly what she wants when she wants it. :)

The Bull watches as the blankly dispassionate look which has been on the Inquisitor's face far too often these past weeks steals over his face yet again and, with an internal sigh, he realizes what the man is about to do.

Sure enough, with a flick of his staff, he casts a half-arsed barrier on himself and leaps off the mountain. The Bull watches as the man's head bounces off the jagged edges of the cliff as he plummets down, and only the knowledge that even a weak barrier will keep the man alive lets him draw in a steadying breath. It will still hurt, he knows. Hurt enough to steal the man's breath and drive all thoughts out of his head for a short time. He also knows that is precisely what the Inquisitor wants.

The man *wants* to hurt.

The Bull has spent most of his life as Ben-Hassrath, and for all of the Qun's shortcomings, they are not fond of losing agents to ignorance. Not knowing one's own emotional limitations gets an agent dead very quickly, and it does not matter if it is by one's own hand or using another's as the weapon of choice. The result was always the same.

The Inquisitor is a man reaching his limits.

No one else in the party seems to have noticed yet. He knows Leliana would have, had she been there. Perhaps Blackwall also. Something about that man stinks of masochism and self-loathing. He briefly considers mentioning the problem to them when they return to Skyhold, but he knows that neither has it in them to really help.

Which rather puts *him* in the dragon's lair.

He considers the prospect seriously. When it comes to sex, a Qunari does not go where he is not invited. Only mindless brutes like the Tal-Vashoth did that.

But -- he *has* been invited. Tentatively, with the subtlest hints, as if the Inquisitor couldn't quite keep himself from responding to the scant few openings the Bull had given him. As if he... yearned.

The Bull had surprised himself with the baldness of his honesty when the Inquisitor had asked about the Ben-Hassrath. Confessing that he had had to turn himself over to the reeducators... had been easier than the Bull had thought it would be, but on consideration, the Inquisitor has always inspired a frankness from the Bull which is... refreshing. It's often difficult to remember that there *are* people out there who *do* want to hear the truth, rather than what they *wish* to hear. But then, considering that he is Hissrad, perhaps such a reminder *is*, in fact, needed from time to time.

The Inquisitor asks for the truth. While he always gives his opinion, the Bull honestly thinks that the Inquisitor doesn't judge. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had been just a little... touched when the man had offered to listen more if the Bull needed to talk about the things done... to 'fix' him.

The cheeky little shit had even offered to *protect* the Bull from those infernal demons! The Bull had set him straight on *that* right quick but --

The man has a savior complex a mile wide that he is completely unwilling to admit to.

But... the Inquisitor kept coming back, and *saving* the Bull hadn't been on his agenda. Questions about government, about how his people really worked... The Bull wouldn't have pegged him as the curious sort, but when he'd asked the man about it, the Inquisitor had just said that it was the Bull's culture and that he wanted to know, and even when the Bull had tried to divert him, the man showed that bit of steel he always kept hidden away 'til he needed it, and forced the issue. Had he been a woman, he might have made a good Tamassran.

Mm. Now *there's* a kinky thought.

His reaction to Qunari sexual practices *had* been hilarious, however. His cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink under his usual dark gold complexion, his blue eyes widened until the Bull could easily see the whites all around the irises, his dark hair suddenly stuck to his temples with nervous sweat, his soft mouth gaped *helplessly*, and his broad chest hitched with a breath he couldn't quite catch as he tried -- doubtless *valiantly* -- to ignore that one little tidbit of Qunari culture so many humans couldn't quite deal with... and failed miserably. Those wide, wide eyes slightly glazed over with thoughts of the Bull taking it up the ass from the women who raised him. Who'd trained and *shaped* him into who he *was*. He'd almost been able to *see* the helplessly uncomfortable tightening of the Inquisitor's balls.

Yet. Still he did not judge.

He seemed... to honestly just want to *understand*. Which in itself is rarer than a selfless magister.

For all of the Bull's doubts right now -- and he has to admit they're crumbling fast, if not necessarily for the best *reasons* -- he wonders if maybe he had *been* planning this on some deep and murky level since the day when the man had first earned the title of Inquisitor. The Bull had wanted to help the man out, had felt something close to pity for him. Why else would he have offered to show the Inquisitor how the people following him really viewed him? He had dressed the Inquisitor up in Grim's clothes and made him listen. Made him start to understand that maybe -- just maybe -- he wasn't as trapped as he thought he was.

As the Bull had suspected, the common soldiers hadn't recognized the Inquisitor in that get-up, and had freely shared their opinions with the Bull and his quiet friend "Grim". It had been enough to show the Inquisitor that *as* the Inquisitor he only represented an ideal, but that the man he was inside -- this 'Marcus Trevelyan' -- could be just that, a man. The Bull had tried to share what little wisdom he'd gained about such heavy burdens, what the *men* needed from the Inquisitor and how he could give it to them, and the man had heard him.

The relaxation hadn't lasted, of course.

But still.

The Bull has... meddled.

The fascinating thing is that the Inquisitor doesn't inspire loyalty because he's a good man or because he can close the rifts. He inspires loyalty because he tries to understand each individual from their own perspective and unique cultural background. When the Bull talked about the day he was chosen to be Ben-Hassrath, *most* humans had shown him *pity* for not being able to choose his own job -- as if *humans* were so much *happier* blundering through their lives, trying to find out where they fit in! No, instead the Inquisitor had immediately understood that that had been a *good* day for him. A *proud* day. Having his purpose found for him, being shown what he was *made* for, that it was a *useful* purpose. He had... understood.

The Inquisitor is... different.

The Inquisitor is also in *trouble*, and has no one who understands *him*.

The Bull is still unsure if he is the right choice to *be* that understanding force for the Inquisitor, but --

His doubts, at this point, have as much to do with the fact that he questions his ability to remain objective, considering the Inquisitor's not-inconsiderable charms, and his own Ben-Hassrath responsibilities. Yet he *has* been tasked with *assisting* the Inquisition, and while he doesn't have a Tamassran to tell him in small words that this *is* another way *to* achieve his goal... he doesn't truly need to be told.

The Bull knows himself, and knows that the Inquisitor is no longer just an assignment, a task, or a means to an end, but rather someone that the Bull respects. He would go so far as to call him Basalit-an. As such, it is normal that he brings out the Bull's need to... provide for him. The burden of command is heavy, and the Qun has always been honest about what must be done to safeguard those *in* command, both physically and emotionally. Especially *by* those around the leader. The Bull *can* be that for him. Easily. Put him through his paces, make him drop his burden, make him forget for a while... put him on his knees, make him desperate, make him *beg*, make him love it... for the Bull.

The Bull would like to leave marks which were not caused by jagged rock, but by his hands. Bruises which would show up dark and obvious no matter how olive his skin got. Watch his skin prickle and break out in gooseflesh in anticipation and trepidation as the Bull stands right behind him, let him feel the Bull's heat, his presence, his *menace*. Make him *need* to lower his head for the Bull instinctively, lower his head and arch his body helplessly in offer, for whatever the Bull wants to *do* to him. A man like the Inquisitor...

Would he know what to beg for? Would he stammer and blush through it or would he be full of bravado? Would he enjoy a more intimate touch, perhaps? Being placed over the Bull's knee and spanked, that beautifully smooth, unmarred mage-skin reddening, 'til the Inquisitor was gasping, tears seeping from his eyes... or would he prefer being taken over, roped down so hard he knows nothing but the Bull's voice, the taste of the Bull's satisfaction. The Bull could make him. The Bull could *train* him, and the Inquisitor would give it up, offer his body for the Bull's cock, learn obedience as he learns surrender.

It would be... natural. The Bull would be filling a need -- that he would also be filling his *own* lustful desires is... something beside the point, so long as he keeps his horns pointed in the right direction, so to speak. This Inquisition needs to succeed, or they would be, as Varric had so eloquently put it "Ass-deep in demons forever", and the center of the Inquisition's success is the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor... has a need. A need which, left unfulfilled, might cause the man *inside* the Inquisitor to break -- not to mention the extraordinarily high likelihood of him one day throwing himself off a cliff *without* an adequate barrier. The Inquisitor needs a break. Ergo, the Bull would be fulfilling his orders by fulfilling the need. That he would also really *enjoy* it... is a perq.

Still. The man needs to actually welcome him for it to work.

He *has* been invited. Already.

The Inquisitor may not be as blunt as a Tamassran -- not about *this*, at least -- but hasn't the Bull spent the past twenty minutes twisting his own horns with the proof that the Inquisitor had already *told* him who he *wants* to assist him in this? The Bull has been chosen.

So.        

Decision made.

He waits until the next time they are in Skyhold. Knowing the Inquisitor will balk if questioned about it, he opts for the direct approach. Especially since he's also long suspected that, given half a chance, the Inquisitor would talk himself into martyrdom. The Bull is a man who prides himself on his instincts, and one look at the Inquisitor when they'd met had told him to be candid with the man at all times. It's worked so far.

He walks into the Inquisitor's opulent rooms and idly wonders how much a Tower-raised mage resents all this... space. Space and *privacy* would seem like something a mage would want -- until you considered the fact that none of them had even once in their lives known such a thing, and just how oppressive it must feel. Like taking a big-litter pup and dumping it in the desert with no one for company. No wonder the other man is slowly going out of his mind. The advisers, for all their tactical knowledge, are blind idiots when trying to keep up appearances.

He makes himself comfortable on the overly-soft bed and makes a mental note to look in the storage rooms of the old keep to see if there are any four-poster beds left with a properly firm pallet -- if nothing else, it would help with his back and make most sorts of bondage easier --

He shakes the thought off. Making long-term plans with a man who isn't even sure he wants to live to see the next morning -- let alone have a permanent... arrangement with a Ben-Hassrath of the Qun -- is unwise, to say the least. Making long-term plans with a man such as that who almost certainly had not one single, solitary clue that one was engaging in such activities... well. 'Unwise' was not the word for it.

The fact that the Inquisitor will need this -- something *like* this, even if not from the Bull -- more than once...

It isn't a thought to entertain now.

Hearing the slight creak on the stairs, he draws on all the confidence he possesses, lets a little knowing smile settle on his face, and gets ready to play the role the Inquisitor needs from him.

***

Tense enough that his shoulders are all but touching his ears, Marcus climbs the stairs to his ridiculously large and frilly rooms. Twenty years late, he wondered if running a Mage Tower was this much work and if Templars receive classes on magical prison management, finance training, and, perhaps, structural engineering along with all that sword-wielding.

In Skyhold, there are a thousand and one things which apparently all need his approval -- if not his supervision. Cullen, Josephine and Leliana are doing a marvelous job, of course, but he honestly wonders if the mountain of paperwork will kill him before the Archdemon, Rifts, Horrors, Dragons, and, oh, yes, Corypheus would get to. He wonders if it will be a mercy. He needs to get out on the road again, do the things he actually knows how to *do*. The sooner he can finish this, the sooner --

_"Have you noticed how many men the inquisition loses?"_

_"That's like every posting we've ever had, it's no worse"_

_"Yes, but how come the *Inquisitor* goes up against all these things and never once loses anyone?"_

_"Well he *is* the *Inquisitor*! Chosen of Andraste. *He* can do anything!"_

_"Yeah, wonder where I sign up for that company..."_

He snarls internally at the memory. He hadn't meant to listen, but the two soldiers had been around the corner from where he'd been walking this morning and hadn't seen him. Marcus had known they'd been losing people. Marcus knows that it's because of *him*, and yet no one blames him. They all tell him that he is the Chosen. That he's *Holy*. That he can *do no wrong* --

The letters had begun to swim on the report he was holding, and he fleetingly wondered if anyone would notice if he just-- jumped out of his very nice, rich and tall balcony onto the ice-covered rocks below. Oh, he will be responsible, he knows. Cast a barrier. But the pain... the pain would be sweet and drugging and *explosive*. Not as good as the Templars' gauntleted hand gripping his hair. No. That would be better, of course. Being forced to service them one after the other. Being forced to be on his *knees* again. The memory of having his airway cut off by one thick cock after another till black spots bloomed in front of his eyes --

He knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't dwell on the things he can no longer have. It's pointless and counterproductive. Being efficient in this war has been the only thing keeping it from spiraling out of control and he -- he has to keep it together. Has to somehow lead them all even though he has no idea how --

He needs... a little something. Something to take the edge off. To calm him. The wrist bands Sera has given him helped a little, giving him the illusion of being held, but... it isn't enough. He can't tighten them any more without cutting off his circulation. He wonders if he can get away with wearing his favorite too-small underwear. The crushing sensation against his balls is *excruciating* if he tries to ride but also helps to ground him. Maker, he would *kill* for just a few *minutes* of sub space. Maybe he could use the --

The creak of leather jerked his head up, and what he sees makes him take an involuntary step back.

Iron Bull. Lounging on his bed. Watching him.

How long has he been here? Has Marcus said anything out loud that could -- that --

No. No, he's safe. He hasn't said *anything*. Hasn't given himself away. He is safe, he --

"So," Bull says, the 'o' bringing quite a few cousins with it, and somehow manages to make his lounge -- his *possession* of Marcus's *bed* -- look that much more *complete*. "I couldn't help noticing the way you talk to me -- and the *way* you talk to me when you're not saying anything at all." Bull smiles wetly. "You want to ride the Bull."

What. *What*?

He sits up, flexing his viciously-scarred abdominal muscles, and Marcus feels his throat dry a little as he notices -- not for the first time, but he has also never been on Marcus's *bed* before so he *thinks* he is allowed just a *moment* -- *all* the scars all over that massive and powerful chest. Even his throat is broad and muscular. Even -- it's everything on Bull, *everything*, and now the hulking tower is closing the distance between them. Steadily. Almost -- lazily. "I'm willing enough," Bull says, and looks Marcus over like -- meat. "But I'm not sure you know what you're asking. Not sure if you're *ready* for it."

So *arrogant*. For a moment, all Marcus can think of is Ser Durant, of his steady eyes in the moments before he did something to put Marcus in his *place*. He feels a completely involuntary shiver go through his whole body.

Bull -- damn Ben-Hassrath -- notices. He prowls over and stares down at Marcus with his one good eye, that metal patch reflecting the glare from the hearth. He seems... completely sure of himself. As solid as a mountain.

Marcus feels his torso *hitch*, and realizes that the weight of that stare has been keeping him from breathing for... he doesn't know how long. He feels like everything *about* him is holding its breath.

Marcus takes another half step-back before he can stop himself. It feels like every muscle is clenched, like all the tension he'd felt earlier was nothing compared to everything making him tense and swallow now. He has to put a stop to this and take control. He opens his mouth to say no, to deny, but what comes out is: "I'm ready for it."

What?

Demons of the *Void*.

"See, you *say* that..." and Bull tilts his head the way he always does when he is considering something serious -- or someone. "But you *really* don't know what that means. Do you."

Oh, he knows what that *means*, all right. He knows what that predatory gleam means in a man like Bull. And he *wants* it. Maker help him, he wants it so badly right now it nearly blinds him. Sends his thoughts spinning and makes everything inside him just turn to white noise.

"Are we gonna do this or not?" His mouth is so *dry*, but that still came out steady. He can be proud of that, and of not being breathless, not breathless, at all... He can do this. Never mind that it's completely unplanned. He can fake brave and true, like he always does.

Marcus doesn't expect Bull to respond by gently and *deliberately* -- oh, so *pointedly* deliberately -- taking him by the wrists, crossing them high above Marcus's head, and pinning him to the jamb of his own balcony window. All the while smiling with what looks like all his teeth.

He can't help gasping for it, not the smile or the position --

"Last chance." Bull stares at him, steadily, refusing to release him. He looks like he can wait forever.

Andraste's tits. *Yes*.

Marcus can't help flexing his wrists, testing that hold a little. "A little slower," he says, and smiles, because... he *can't* move, hasn't been able to move, at all. He wants to *drown* in this. He wants -- "And a *lot* harder."

Bull's hands flex a lot less gently on his wrists, but his smile is both fond and appreciative. Openly appreciative. In a flash Marcus realizes that Bull has been holding back, expecting to fight for it, to have to be *convincing*, and he briefly regrets not giving the man the chance to do just that, but... no.

This is better. *This* gets him picked up like he weighs nothing and dropped bodily on the bed. When he tries to move, Bull's huge hand immediately flattens itself to his chest and pins him in place.

He feels incredibly small all of a sudden, like everything is finally quieting down inside him, and -- he feels open. Ready.

He's missed this so *much*.

Marcus has a moment to marvel that he finally gets to do this in a *bed* as opposed to a storage closet or on a hard, cold stone floor, but --

"Stay."

Marcus feels every thought -- every *irrelevant* thought -- *finally* fade to quiet as he starts to slide into that blissful headspace a lot sooner than he would've thought possible, if he'd ever thought to give the matter any consideration. It doesn't matter.

He lets Bull take over.

***

The Bull had initially been startled by the hidden brazen streak the unassuming little Inquisitor occasionally lets peek through, but, considering the fact that, by all accounts, the man had *fallen* into the role of leader and had somehow always found his feet despite that... maybe the Bull should've expected it from the beginning. Maybe the man knows his own needs after all, and isn't afraid to grab for them when they're on offer. Maybe, like the Bull, he has just been waiting for permission to openly... need.

That thought makes the Bull hungry, makes him growl, and he very nearly grips the man too tightly. Catching himself, he turns the hold from a painful one to a firm one. Wouldn't do to hurt the little human, after all. Well, not without knowing if he likes that kind of thing, of course.

Speaking of which... the Bull looks the man over assessingly. He needs to know what sort of domination will work, but figuring that sort of thing out with as -- relatively -- little information as he currently has will take at least most of the *skill* he has. The Bull would never delude himself that a man like the Inquisitor will be an open book. That he likes pain is obvious, but it's likely not all he needs. It seems to the Bull that the man is hiding several *different* needs under all that boldness, that half-wild *rashness* that keeps nearly getting him *killed*... and, truly, it's obvious that a bit of erotic torture -- however distracting -- will not be *enough* for either of them tonight.

No matter.

After giving the man a direct order to stay, he hadn't been able to do more for moments than watch fascinated as the man all but froze... and then melted under the Bull's hands. It was necessary to revise his opinion of the man's exposure to this sort of play by several notches.

The Inquisitor is indeed an interesting man in his baser corners, as the Bull had suspected.

The Bull wraps his hand casually around the whole of the Inquisitor's throat, watching as his Adam's apple bobs and letting the man feel his fingers rubbing together against the back of his neck. Letting him feel, again, just how much bigger than him the Bull is.

The Bull smiles down at him, with perhaps a little teeth, satisfied-like. It never hurts to let the subs know that you know what you're doing. Builds trust.

He methodically explores the surface of the Inquisitor's throat with one hand, finding barely any stubble, and what's there has a rasp he thinks he'd like to feel on his cock. He sets to opening the man's robes with the other hand, slowly puzzling out where all the ties are. He's never taken a mage to bed before, and now he wonders how they ever manage to strip at speed with all these intricate little ties to undo. He takes his time about the way he touches the Inquisitor's throat, letting the other man feel how deft his fingers can be, increasing pressure here, and relaxing it there. The Bull flexes his hand and lets the Inquisitor feel the power behind it. The threat. He knows from experience that the man is now hyper-aware of the Bull's every move. The Inquisitor doesn't close his eyes, however, like many subs would in order to better enjoy what is being done to them. That in itself tells the Bull many things, as does the fact that the Inquisitor's gaze is completely focused on the Bull's *face*, and never once shifts to attempt to see what the Bull is doing to his clothes. He *also* doesn't offer to help -- even silently. He just... obeys. The one command the Bull had given him.

Once the ties are undone, the Bull finds that he can completely expose the Inquisitor's torso just by opening the flaps of his robe, like one of those Orleasian pastry-things. Mille-feuilles.

But... he's learned a great deal about the Inquisitor in the process of undressing him. Or he thinks he has. Time to test.

"Hands to the side," he says, and watches...

As expected, the Inquisitor moves them immediately, baring his chest to the Bull.

The Bull cocks his head and considers, reaching over and lightly circling the Inquisitor's left nipple. It perks up immediately, and the Bull can't help but lick the backs of his teeth in anticipation.    

There is a few ways to approach this, but...

"You have been trained. By whom?"

When the answer comes, it is in a soft subservient voice, as if he is already falling into headspace. By the Qun, so *easily*...

"The Templars. Our circle had a number of them who felt it was their duty to relieve stress for the mages so we didn't get possessed." His cheeks are flushing but his eyes never leave the Bull's.

*This* was new information. But...some Arvaard in the Qun do the same with their Saarebas charges.

"Was it consensual?" This matters; this will change how he needs to proceed.

The Inquisitor is quiet for only a beat, but it's a telling beat. When he finally speaks, it's still honest, however. Open. "It was what I knew. It did for me what they said it would."

Pinching his nipple in reward, he gives it an indulgent tug. The Inquisitor arches a little for it, but otherwise stays still. No sound comes out of him.

The Bull nods to himself at this reaction and holds the pinch, increasing the pressure slowly. By the time he knows he *himself* would be making noise, the Inquisitor finally lets out a small, barely-audible whimper.

"No. Don't hold it in. I want to hear you." It occurs to him that the Inquisitor might need the permission -- permission he is more than willing to give.

He isn't surprised by the Inquisitor's surprise, but the way his expression floods with the most sincere *gratitude*... if the Bull is honest with himself, it *does* things to him. His quiet, heartfelt "Thank you" has the Bull smiling at him in reward, and a few other things, as he pinches again.

This time the Inquisitor doesn't hold back. He moans openly, and, as the Bull increases the pressure, he starts to whimper, then outright *keen*. But he does not move away, or break eye contact, or move his hands or any other part of his body. He just ... *takes* it.

The Bull feels his cock get heavy.

Heavier.

Fuck, but he's going to enjoy this.

"Very good." He has to praise. Submission like this *has* to be rewarded.

The smile that breaks out on the Inquisi-- no. He isn't the Inquisitor here. Not with the Bull. The man made his choice, and has been *showing* the Bull that he is serious.

"I am taking your name, Inquisitor."

"Oh. Fuck -- I. Please. Yes."

"Marcus." The Bull says, letting the growl in his voice edge closer to a *possessive* purr.

Marcus's smile this time is dazzling, and so sincere it hurts.

So. He needs praise. He wants to please his dominant. He wants to be *owned*.

Wasn't all abuse then.

Or maybe... he just wants to please so the pain will stop. The Bull considers this for a moment.

Casually flicking the dark and swollen little nipple, he decides to leave that thought alone for now.

"Unlace your pants for me. I want to watch." The Bull sits back against the headboard and settles in to enjoy it, raking his gaze over Marcus, wondering how he will obey *this* order.

He unlaces the ties of his pants as ordered with no particular fanfare, but then the Bull feels his eyebrows try to climb into his horns because Marcus is... *undulating*.

He has all of his weight on his shoulders, but the rest of him is moving, *working*, as smooth as an Antivan dancer.

Right down to that little move where they manage to shimmy their pants down to their knees, before pausing to work their boots off with the tips of their toes, and then slide the pants the rest of the way off.

The Bull has never known what precisely about it was so *erotic* for him, but it might be because it takes *dedication*. It's obvious that this is something Marcus has done many times before, and that it's something he's *practiced*, and that it is meant for spectators. The Bull wonders just how *many* spectators have been privy to it, and who had trained it into him in the first place.

And, of course, Marcus's focus is *still* on the Bull's face.

The Bull can't keep himself from showing Marcus *exactly* how much he'd appreciated that performance.

Ducking his head, and obviously trying to hide a shy, pleased smile, Marcus further surprises the Bull by volunteering without prompt: "I liked... the way they looked at me, when I pleased them with a new trick. They were... it was always good, after."

'They gave me what I needed' goes unsaid.

"We would... practice, sometimes. The apprentices, I mean. Tell each other what looked good and what needed work."

The Bull is no idiot, and Ben-Hassrath sexual training rivals that of the Crows. It seems that their little Inquisitor knows very well what he needs: He needs the attention of a dedicated dominant, who appreciates him. Appreciates everything he can show. Everything he can offer. A picture is starting to form in the Bull's mind of *this* submissive, and he feels that drive inside him grow stronger, that need to *take* control.

It seems giving Marcus what he needs will be no hardship, at all.

The Bull smiles at him again.

"Is that so. What other tricks did you learn, hm? Should I make you show them to me?" He adds a bit of an edge to his voice, letting the entitlement bleed through, and watches Marcus react to his tone.

And oh, react he does. His soft lips part as if he is about to pant, and he arches his chest up as if he means to offer it... before he catches himself and drops, obviously remembering the Bull's orders.

The Bull smiles at Marcus for remembering, and lets his gaze trail down his torso and until it rests, deliberately, on his darkly flushed cock.

The cock that is rapidly getting hard, and which looks painfully so within moments as the Bull watches it.

By the Qun, if this is all it takes to make the man give it up, he might never watchword.

Which brings the Bull up short as he remembers that he hasn't *offered* him one, yet.

Nor has Marcus asked for one.

It would be a calculated risk, but the Bull decides that this time, this first time, he will just give Marcus a taste. As such, he will not offer him a watchword. If Marcus comes back for more... well, then, all bets are off.

He sternly reminds himself that Marcus is not looking for an *owner*, but likely just someone to take the edge off. It hasn't escaped the Bull's attention that Marcus hadn't given a *single* name for any of the Templars who had a hand in training him.

Nodding to himself, he places a single finger on Marcus's jugular notch, and presses down just a little. The pad of his finger is, of course, nearly too large to make that work with a human, but the Bull makes do. Marcus stops moving immediately, and holds his breath as the Bull knew he would. Testing a theory, he puts a touch more pressure on, and Marcus's cock start to leak just as it should.

Amused, he rubs the little throat dip, fucking into it shallowly, and says, "You're such a pretty little mage. I can see why those Templars would take you. I've barely touched you, and already your cock is *dripping* for me." A flush slowly creeps down from Marcus's face to his chest. His skin tone is closer to olive than peach, but the flush makes it look closer to golden.

His wide blue eyes are already begging the Bull. Pleading with him to not let up. To... push.

In that moment, the Bull muses that Marcus is made for this. He might be the leader of ten thousand strong, but he is *made* for sex. Made to be taken.

"Pretty. Pretty little mage *whore*, aren't you?" He hadn't meant to let that slip out yet, but it did. He makes sure to keep his expression entitled still, controlled, and to let the appreciation in his eye soften the words.

He hopes he'd guessed right.

***

Maker, yes, yes, he is. He's always *been* a whore. He's known it when he was 11 and the Templars had first touched him. He'd known it when all he could do was cant his hips up and offer himself to the big men in the gleaming armor with gentle hands who had saved him from his father's angry and fearful servants. His father, who had lost even the little interest he'd had in him when Marcus had manifested his powers -- no not thinking about that. He *is* a whore. He knows it. The Templars had only showed him his true nature. Laughed gently at him and told him that he was one of *those* apprentices. The ones they'd need to take *special* care of, and they *had*! Oh, how they had.

Marcus can't help but respond to Bull. From the first day he'd laid eyes on him, he'd known he would drop to his knees for this man if he so much as hinted that he wanted sex. Wanted Marcus.

He pushes into the pressure of that massive finger, offering even more of his throat to Bull. Choking himself a little with just that, so that Bull knows he can -- he *should* -- take *more* from Marcus. That it *is* Bull's to take.

Bull's smile is suddenly a lot wetter.

Marcus can't help feeling just a little pleased with himself. He might be a whore but he still knows how to work a man up with his submission. He isn't *just* a whore. He's a *good* whore, damnit. He wants to *please* this man. This *dominant*.

"Please," he says, and is surprised by the depth of desperation in his own voice. But... he needs to beg. It's been... it's been so *long*. Bull can *give* him what he needs. If --

"Please what, little whore?" Bull's tone is amused, but his expression never stops being appreciative. He *is* getting off on this, if Marcus is *any* judge.

Marcus knows how to answer that one. He *knows*. Templars at the Tower had always said 'Andraste demands honesty. Show us your honesty.'

"Please take what you want from me," Marcus says, letting himself show... everything. "Please let me *please* you. Please *let* me be your whore."

He would have missed Bull's small, barely-perceptible hissed breath had they not been touching. As it is, he feels it all the way down to his toes. Which are curling, helplessly, at the knowledge that his... his *sluttish* behavior is turning Bull on. This big, powerful man *wants* him. Wants him to be just this -- this --

Oh, the Templars hadn't lied! Of course they hadn't. Ser Greagoir had always been so *pious*. He *wouldn't* have lied. Marcus had missed him so badly when he'd transferred away!

Spreading his legs just a little -- he hadn't been given permission for more -- he keeps meeting Bull's eye. Keeps showing his *sincerity*. *Honesty is always best*.

Bull's wraps his hand around his whole throat then, like he is a toy or a twig he can *snap* with just a flex of his big fingers. He probably can. He uses a greatsword like *it's* a stick. Bull pulls him up by just his neck so they are face to face. There's a dangerous gleam in his eye, that of a dominant who is still leashed but just barely. Marcus *thrills* inside with fear and anticipation. Bull *is* a dangerous man and suddenly Marcus remembers that very well.

"Mm, you *are* a good little whore, aren't you?" He growls, bare inches from Marcus's face. "How should I use you, hm?"

His tone says it's not really a question, so Marcus waits.

"Should I pleasure you? Hurt you? Should I do both until you can't tell them apart?" Bull seems to be *sniffing* him, and that deep growl hasn't left his voice. He pulls back and taps his finger on Marcus's lip in obvious consideration and Marcus instinctively sucks it in. "Should I use your throat to pleasure myself? Your jaw will ache and you *will* choke, and I won't stop. Maybe I won't stop even when you pass out from lack of air."

Marcus shudders. Bull's smile has more teeth than a dragon's; Marcus is sure of it.

Bull presses down on Marcus's tongue with his finger, holding it in place. "Or should I split you open on my cock, force my way into you even while you try to squirm away? Should I stretch you first, do you think? I would have to get all four of my fingers in you before you could take me, but maybe I would give you only two, and watch you cry for the rest while you stretched around me, your little hole trying to fit me in."

Marcus's whole body spasms at the image, cock spitting more precome. His ass clenches from the *want* of it. He can smell his own sweat, feel it sliding down his chest, and his nipples are so hard they *hurt*. The man hasn't taken off a single item of clothing and Marcus is seconds away from *coming*. Of course he would never come without *permission*, but he *could*. Right *now*.

Letting saliva drip out of his mouth so as to not dislodge the finger still holding his tongue down, Marcus can only moan.

Bull slips his finger out and rubs the saliva into Marcus's lips and his left cheek, all the while his other hand is still wrapped tightly around Marcus's throat. He seems to pull himself back a little, the edge going out of his eyes just a touch, though his smile is still feral.

"You would let me, wouldn't you, pretty Marcus. You would let me do it all if I chose."

It's a statement again, but Marcus can't help but nod. He licks at Bull's finger every time it gets close enough for his tongue to reach.

"So be it." Those words. Bull has made a choice. "On your knees. Let's see what that hungry little mouth of yours can do."

Marcus grunts and shivers. That cock. He's going to get to taste that cock which he's been daydreaming about and trying *not* to for months. He's going to get to show his *skill*, everything he has worked to learn whenever he was given the chance, whenever he was given this *treat*. He's going to get to *worship* and -- he can feel his mouth watering as soon as Bull releases his throat and he scrambles to slither off the bed. For a moment it looks like Bull might change his mind, but he just shakes his big-horned head and spreads his legs to give Marcus easier access.

Marcus flashes him a grateful smile and works on trying to figure out how to open those wide pantaloons. But before he can even figure out the laces on them, the smell of Bull *hits* him -- hard. That strong musk, that smell of a *warrior*, that smell of sweat and *armor*, and Marcus finds himself drooling even more, *lunging* towards that big bulge. He rubs his whole face on it, moaning, almost losing his mind to it. Oh, his cock must be *magnificent*. Marcus is going to *devour* it!

The sound of Bull chuckling brings him back to himself a little, and the feel of that big hand yanking him back by the hair lets him focus when Bull says,

"There, now. I understand. It's been too long for you." Bull deftly unlaces his pants with his free hand, and pulls his cock and heavy balls out of the surprisingly-large slit of his pantaloons.

Marcus catches himself wondering stupidly if that's why he wears them. It's not like there's any *other* practical reason to hide those phenomenal thighs.

"Hush now. You'll have it in a moment."

And that's when Marcus realizes that he's whimpering and tugging against the pull on his hair to try and get at that cock.

***

Had this been one of Varric's lurid books, the Bull would have laughed his face off and told him that he couldn't possibly embellish this much and have people still believe him.

As it is, holding on to Marcus's soft brown hair with a downright brutal grip, the Bull has to reevaluate *just* how starved Marcus is to be all but whining and *fighting* him to get at his cock now.

Saying the mage is eager would be like saying an Ataashe is a little aggressive.

Taarsidath-an halsaam, indeed!

Firming his grip a little more, he takes himself in hand, and decides to take back a *little* control of the situation, considering.

"Hush, Marcus. Taashath. Calm. As gratifying as it is for you to be so eager, you won't get my cock sooner if you fight me." His pretty little mage, freezing under his hand, gives a soul-jerking, pitiful whine, but stops trying to lunge at him, at least. "Now, be a good little Bas-Saarebas, and close your mouth. We will do this at my pace, not yours."

He can feel Marcus's slight tremors, the way he's trying desperately to restrain himself and obey. And, by the Qun, the Bull wants him! Slowly teasing himself, he brings Marcus's face close enough to touch the head of his cock, and rubs the precome across his wet lips. After the third pass, Marcus makes a noise inside his throat that would have been a sob had he not been forcing his mouth closed.

The Bull would be lying if he said he didn't find that sob as erotic as the dragon's little gurgle. Possibly more so.

If they are going to do this...

"Marcus. Focus now." The Bull needs to give him an out. Watchwords aside, he knows himself and he's starting to know Marcus, too; they need a signal or this *will* go too far. "I want you to pinch my thigh hard if you need me to stop at any point. Do you understand? Use words."

"Yes, Bull. I... understand? Pinch your... thigh if it is too much for me." Marcus says, but there is confusion in his eyes, despite the healthy amount of trust. The Bull is considering if he will need to explain the concept of a watchword for Marcus, when Marcus seems to get it and says: "I can... stop you, if it is too much."

The look in Marcus's eyes forces the Bull to suppress a shudder - so much *trust* - and he refocuses on where he was leading them. "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out." He has to fight now to keep his voice even, Ben-Hassrath training be damned.

Marcus does it so fast and wide that the Bull could probably shove his whole cock down Marcus's throat in one hard thrust. He manfully restrains himself, and makes sure to dribble nice and copious-like on that hot little eager tongue.

"Good. That is very good." He relaxes his hand in Marcus hair a little and pets his new pet. Except -- he is not supposed to think that, and to punish himself as much as to reward Marcus, he says, "Alright, now wrap your lips around me and suck. Once. Really *taste* me."

To keep himself from fucking that hot little mouth that wraps around him so obediently and tries to suck everything out of him with one pull, he looks down and notices that Marcus has his legs spread as far as they will go, that he's arching his back, offering his ass up as much as possible in obvious thanks for the right to finally -- it *has* to be finally, it *feels* like a finally to the Bull certainly -- get to taste his cock.

"Stop." Fuck, that took *resolve*. His Tamassran would be proud. He is *not* thinking about his Tamassran.

Fisting his cock to expose his balls, and smiling down at Marcus with what he knows is his mean smile, he orders, perhaps a trifle breathlessly, "Open wide now, as wide as you can. I want both my balls in your mouth. No teeth, little whore."

***

Marcus is drunk. So far down he doesn't know anything but the Voice and the kind, appreciative, *hungry* gaze eating him alive. So kind. Giving him a taste. He hasn't even earned it, yet! But oh, he must have! He has been good. Bull *said* he has been good. And he will *keep* being --

Bull's balls are *huge*. They fill Marcus's whole mouth, and are so musky from the ticklish hairs on them. The *taste*! Bull must have been sweating earlier, because his cock had tasted of animal musk, but the taste of his balls *explodes* in Marcus's mouth. Rich flavor so much stronger than he ever could have imagined. He wants to rub his whole *face* all over them. No, no, he has to lick, make his tongue as flat as it will go and massage those balls with it, really *love* them. *Show* his devotion. Devotion like all those people give to him all the -- no *not* that! Not *now* --

Marcus jerks for the sudden sharp *pain* in his nipple -- Oh, Bull must have noticed his distraction! The brutal twist there is just that side of too much, and just that side of perfect. Thank you! *Thank* you! Please hurt me. Please take the thoughts *away*.

He knows he can't swallow Bull's balls down his throat but he tries. He tries so hard, he *needs* this -- but not *too* hard, he can't hurt him, never hurt him, only *pleasure*. He uses every trick he knows, swirling his tongue, writing runes of protection and care on Bull's sweaty, *delicious*, hairy balls; he could have stayed like that forever, mouthing at them and slurping like the whore he is.

Bull, of course, decides otherwise, and shoves a booted foot under Marcus's own balls. Marcus had *forgotten* how hard he is, but *Bull* hasn't. Good Master. Wonderful Master. Marcus *must* please him. The Templars he *had* pleased always came back to use him again. All except Ser Greagoir who had *left* but he'd said it was because he had to go serve Andraste, and --

Marcus groans deep inside his chest, trying to cut the thoughts off, and Bull obliges his efforts by shoving his balls even deeper, and *rubbing* his completely monstrous cock across Marcus's whole *face*. *Using* his face. Marking him.

Bull had *marked* him!

The noise that comes out of Marcus this time is pure animal.

Possibly Bull knows this as he yanks his head back by his hair and looks down at him --

Oh, his *eye*. Bull looks *starved*.

Marcus can *do* something about that!

"Please! Please, Master. Please give me your cock! Please fuck my throat. Please don't be *gentle*. Please *use* me!" He's cracking and he doesn't care. He is past shame. Past everything.

It must show on his face, because Bull actually *growls*, sounding a *lot* like the dragons he finds magnificent. "Enough. I will give you what you need. *Open*."

Marcus can't remember the last time he was so eager to obey anyone. He takes three deep breaths in quick succession, making himself high on oxygen and opening as wide as he can, and Bull doesn't make him wait.

Bull thrusts that thick cock in, pulling back only once, as if to get himself used to the feel of Marcus's mouth, and then, in one powerful push, he shoves in while yanking Marcus down on himself.

Maker. His cock is *huge*.

His throat is stretched so wide Marcus is sure that nothing else can possibly fit there. His jaw immediately starts to ache, and he *never wants it to stop*.

"Little. Mage. You are *glorious*. I am *not* going to stop." He can't see Bull any more, but he can hear the lust in his voice. Marcus's chin is flushed with Bull's wet balls, and he's stuffed full of cock. He can hardly register what the man is saying to him, and Marcus can feel himself give over to Bull, knowing finally that someone stronger -- better -- is in charge.

He allows it all to slip away and just lets himself be used.

***

The Bull feels himself bottoming out, and for a moment he wonders if he's gone too far. He didn't give Marcus a *real* watchword. There's a distinct chance that he'd never even *had* one, judging by his earlier confusion. But then he feels Marcus go limp. Just -- surrender. Completely and utterly, right on his cock, and the Bull knows that he hasn't pushed too far, at all.

He fucks his way into that throat, never leaving it for longer than a moment to let Marcus take little sips of air. He suspects the other man likes to be choked, as well, judging by the things that have come out of his mouth, but -- Watch. Word. He is *not* a Tal-Vashoth! He is better than that. He can keep control. He *will* keep control. Even while -- curses! Is the man moaning? On his cock? The vibrations are going to drive him *mad*.

He can't stop himself from fucking Marcus just a little harder, knowing he's bruising Marcus's throat, but feeling him relax even *more*.

He knows he can't last long. Marcus is giving it up for him just too sweetly. His throat is *trying* to choke, but instead of fighting the Bull, he's just letting him feel the relentless fluttering of his throat against the Bull's cockhead. Marcus is so stretched that he can barely swallow, but he valiantly tries.

This feels better than fighting, better than drinking, better than anything he can remember. He has no idea how he will give this *up*.

Vashedan, he is *screwed*.

On a sadistic high, knowing exactly what he is going to get, he pushes both of them, "Good slut. *Such* a good whore. Fuck yourself on my boot while I use you. Let me *see* you give it up for me."

He can feel Marcus scrambling to obey, working himself brutally -- it has to hurt like a bitch but he never slows, never even *pauses*.

"*Good* boy. You've earned this."

The choked-off moans get even more intense against his cock, as does the mindless, desperate rutting against his oiled boot. "That's it. Be good now. Don't you dare disappoint me." He can feel the desperate fluttering against his cockhead, and there's fresh sweat rolling down his spine. He's going to lose control. He *is* -- "Come now. Come on my boot just like --"

He hasn't even finished speaking before Marcus jerks under his hand, and there is sudden wet heat on his boot. The Bull's senses are assaulted by the pungent human semen-smell and it tears a possessive growl from deep within his chest.

Fuck, he comes on command. *How* can they have *ever* let him out of the Tower? How did some Templar not just chain him to their bed and --

He sucks in a deep breath, feeling Marcus start to lose control of his magic. Feeling his magic *grip* the Bull's whole body and *squeeze*. Shit, even his *cock* is in a vise-like grip! It's like having a massive hand *tighten* all around him, and his cock feels as if it will burst like an overripe grape. He can't last, not with this kind of *assault*. Marcus's tongue is working him over and the his eyes are losing focus, his face going redder and redder. The Bull hasn't let him breathe. He came without *breathing*.

"Maraas-Lok! Swallow! Drink my come down. Drink it *all*." He has breath enough to snarl before he comes so explosively that he would have toppled if he hadn't been sitting. As it is, he shoves Marcus all the way down to the root and holds him there as he roars his release. He can feel Marcus swallowing frantically, those little throat clenches momentarily wiping out all thought from the Bull's head.

He feels Marcus's mouth start to go slack, and comes back to himself by sheer force of will. He's passing out on the Bull's cock and *still* refusing to pull back.

Right now, a part of him honestly wonders if that Maker of theirs hadn't crafted this man personally. *He's* nearly convinced of the man's divinity just from a blow job.

It was not *just* a blow job.

He yanks Marcus off his cock, rubbing his chest gently, and saying, "Parshaara. Breathe. Good boy. Breathe now. It's over. You did well."

***

Marcus floats.

For a while he is nowhere. He just drifts, safe and warm and happier than he can remember being in a long, long time.

After a while, he realizes that he has been moved. Picked up? Had he passed out on the floor?

No, he is warm and -- big hands. Warm, calloused hands are touching him. Petting him. It feels wonderful. Safe. He is so calm and content and he never wants it to stop.

But there is a voice. The Voice is important. He has to listen to it. He struggles to focus --

"Good boy. So good, Marcus."

He smiles without opening his eyes. He has been good. He has been good and this is his reward.

"Come back, Marcus. You are safe. Come back, Kadan."

Does he have to? *Why* does he have to? Oh! Oh. He has left a mess. On the boot. Bull has made him *fly* and taken him apart and... and he made a mess on his boot. He has to clean it up!

He struggles to open his eyes, and after a while he manages. Bull's face swims into focus.

"Bull," he tries to say but his voice is a croak. Then a tumbler of water is pressed to his lips and Maker, so cool and liquid and a balm on his sore throat.

And then he remembers *why* his throat hurts, and his face splits into a smile that hurts nearly as much as his throat. He... might be giggling. He doesn't care.

Bull chuckles at him, all the while touching him, petting him. He must have done *really* well. The Templars only did that when he had performed exceptionally.

Oh, but the boot!

He struggles to sit up, and Bull allows it, though a surprised look flashes across his face. Marcus thinks Bull might have forgotten.

But when he tries to slide off the bed and to the ground, Bull stops him.

"What are you doing?" He doesn't sound angry, only confused.

Maybe he *has* forgotten about the mess? "Sorry, Master. I will clean the mess right away." His throat is still croaky. He doesn't know why Bull suddenly stills. He can't figure out what he has done wrong.

He glances up worriedly to see if maybe some direction will come from Master, but Bull had an inscrutable expression on his face, and his hand, which has been stopping Marcus, goes lax.

It's permission enough. Marcus slides a little stiffly to his knees, gets on all fours like he's been taught, arches his ass up in the air, shifts his legs slightly apart, rests his hands down on either side of the dirtied boot, and puts his tongue to lapping up the spend.

"...well, fuck."

He hears it, but since Bull still doesn't stop him, he focuses on getting the boot as clean as he can like he had been taught. He is both grateful that it is not a metal instep, which would have been hard on his tongue -- leather is so much easier -- and regretful that it isn't a Templar's metal, which would be more familiar. But the leather smells like... well, it smells like what Marcus has started associating with Bull, so that makes it... wonderful.

He feels Bull's hand on his head and braces himself for punishment, but Bull just pets him. Like a big animal, slow and methodical. Marcus thinks he is purring as he licks every last drop off. When he is done, he sits back on his heels and dares to look up at his Mas-- at Bull.

Bull had a very peculiar expression on his face. Marcus can't identify it at all. He is just starting to get nervous when Bull taps the bed next to his thigh showing that he wants Marcus on it, so Marcus hurries to scramble up. He feels a little stiff, but it's nothing he isn't used to --

But then a wave of exhaustion suddenly hits him. He hadn't realized how tired he'd gotten tonight. Bull pushes Marcus's head down to his thigh.

"You did very well." Bull is petting his hair so *gently*. "Go to sleep, Kadan. You haven't slept well in more than two weeks; you need it."

It isn't a suggestion and Marcus is too tired and too heart-swollen to wonder how Bull knows he hadn't been sleeping.

Within moments he is out.

***

The Bull spends a long time petting Marcus's hair as he sleeps on his thigh.

He had not expected this. At best, he had expected to coax Marcus into letting him take some of the pressure off with a hand-job, or a quick-and-dirty blow job. Maybe tie him up a little.

He never could have foreseen this however. Apparently Ben-Hassrath training didn't prepare one for everything. His Besrathari should be ashamed.

He puts Marcus to bed, tucking the sheets around him like he is a child, and stokes the fire, all the while deep in thought.

He is in trouble.

He is in deep, *deep* trouble.

He knows himself well enough to know this.

And... there are also the few things Marcus had said while too deep in subspace to notice.

He had been confused about watchwords.

He had called the Bull *Master*.

He had *meant* it. The Bull has no doubts about this.

The Bull had called him *Kadan*.

The Bull is... so fucked.

Shaking it off, he decides to let Marcus sleep as he closes the door. Derailing Leliana -- he recognizes the lingering possessiveness in himself when he won't let anyone wake Marcus, no matter how urgent, and it is another bad sign -- he guides her away from the door, and lets the savior of their world sleep the sleep of the innocent.

At the very least, *this* is a problem which can wait.

He hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> ****  
>  Qun word terminology: From the dragon age wiki @    
>  <http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qunlat>
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _The Qun_** : The central philosophy of the Qunari peoples.
> 
>  ** _Ben-Hassrath_** : Ben-Hassrath primarily act as enforcers of religious law[ ]](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Ben-Hassrath#cite_note-FemFighters-2) in the Qunari society who are responsible for policing the populaceand "re-educating" both the Qunari who do not follow the established normsand new converts. They also act as spiesand assassins for the Qunari as well as perform other clandestine missions.
> 
>  ** _Tal-Vashoth_** : a Qunari who does not follow the Qun. "True Gray Ones." Former members of the Qunari order who have turned against their former people, or simply turned their back on the Qun. Usually denotes violence.
> 
>  ** _Hissrad_** : direct meaning: Liar, or "Keeper of Illusions" , also Iron Bull's official Ben-Hassrath designation
> 
>  ** _Basalit-an_** : A non-Qunari worthy of respect.
> 
>  ** _Tamassran_** : Tamassrans ("Those Who Speak" in [Qunlat](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qunlat)) are a branch of the Qunari priesthood and as such fall under the [Ariqun](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Ariqun). This is a female gender role. Tamassrans de facto rule the Qunari society. The Qunari themselves, however, do not see it this way: the brain could be said to rule the body... but so does the heart, the lungs, the stomach; the Tamassrans are a part of the whole.
> 
> Tamassrans perform the following functions in the Qunari society:
> 
> -Control the Qunari selective breeding program by deciding who mates, and if so - with whom. This refers to the Qunari of all races, including humans and elves. At that, Tamassrans don't cross-breed races with other races.
> 
> -Give names to newborn children. These "names" are strings of genealogical information that the Tamassrans use to keep track of recessive and dominant traits the individual may be carrying. The Qunari themselves use their job titles rather than their "names" to call one another.
> 
> -Raise all the children and give them their general education.
> 
> -When the Qunari children reach the age of 12, evaluate them and officially assign their roles.
> 
> -Look after those Qunari who are not mentally able, or are too physically impaired to function without a lot of help.
> 
> -Grant sexual relief to Qunari in need.
> 
> -Use the substance called [qamek](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Qamek) to "free those beyond redemption," i.e. to turn dissenters who have persistently resisted re-education into all-but mindless creatures ("viddath-bas"), who can only perform hard labor and require looking after in the same manner as the disabled.
> 
>  ** _Ataashe_** : Dragon or "The Glorious Ones"
> 
>  ** _Arvaard_** : Qunari mage handler or "One Who Holds Back Evil"; a Qunari who watches over the saarebas (Qunari mages) and hunts Tal-Vashoth.
> 
>  ** _Saarebas_** : Qunari mage
> 
>  ** _Taarsidath-an halsaam_** : "I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect."
> 
>  ** _Taashath_** : Calm
> 
>  ** _Bas Saarebas_** : a non-qunari mage
> 
>  **Vashedan** : Crap (literally "refuse" or "trash").
> 
>  ** _Maraas-Lok_** : Drink, as in swallow.
> 
>  ** _Parshaara_** : Enough
> 
>  ** _Kadan_** : Literally, "where the heart lies." An all-purpose word for a "person one cares about," including colleagues, friends and loved ones. Sometimes also "the center of the chest".


End file.
